Cassiopeia Lestrange, child of the Underworld
by malfoyforever
Summary: Prequel to the Penetrator of Darkness. How did Cassiopeia come to be so wicked, so like her mother? Where did she grow up? Who raised her? ON HIATUS.
1. Prologue

Prologue

November 26, 1978

He limped along the dirt road, focusing on the sinister silvery manor lying ahead, trying to ignore the screaming pain in his right leg.

Tonight had been a relatively unproductive night for the Death Eaters. The Rosier home, where they had been meeting for the past few weeks, was almost past its incognito age, Evan's mother putting up an act on how she would "tip off" the Ministry on their current whereabouts. The most exciting event was, in fact, Dolohov and Bastan bringing in three Mudbloods for them to have a little "fun" with. He had joined in for a short while, Imperiusing the lot to test his day's capabilities, and then let the others have the fun.

He would have stayed longer, but there was that piercing pain in his side again. The numb that he felt when he cast Unforgivables and Dark magic in general was nothing compared to this. Last time he had felt like this, his father had owled him to tell him his Great-Aunt Capricia had died from Romania, except this time, he could tell that more than a family would suffer at this.

He despised that pain, because it made him weak, and Lucius Abraxas Malfoy hated feeling weak, especially in front of the Dark Lord. The Dark Lord always seemed to know when one of his Death Eaters were hurting, and not with empathy. The Dark Lord, Lucius had realised long ago, was not human. His nature was reminiscent of a reptilian one, which made him a cold-blooded killer and a stealthy hunter. Snakes knew and recognized those of higher rank than themselves; thus, he knew that he would never get to the Dark Lord's level. He however also knew that much higher forces were the source of his pain, and he did not feel curious about it.

He had always gotten feelings like this, moments during which he automatically assumed something and was as sure of it as of his name, and he was sure that the source was not of Seer ability. He had gotten feelings about Seers, and this one was much, much stronger.

So, he had gone onto the balcony to drink a bit with Severus and Rodolphus. Severus he liked fondly enough, from the moment he welcomed him into the Slytherin House as a fifth-year prefect. He had lots of potential, which Lucius had profited fully of. He was intelligent and cunning, and had enough brain cells to not be fully loyal to the Dark Lord as a smart, sane person should be. Rodolphus was a bit of a lackey, but Lucius tolerated him, as he pitied the man to have a wife such as Bellatrix, a wife that did not dote on him but on a most lethal Dark Lord. He was one of those unquestioned loyal Death Eaters, but he had never fallen into the trap of madness.

Now he was a bit light-headed, which was probably why he had Splinched himself. He cursed to have not thought to Floo over to the manor instead of Apparating. He got to the front entrance and thrust his wand back into his robes, knocking on the silver knocker.

The door swung open, apparently of its own accord, but Lucius saw a wide-eye female house-elf peek out.

"Master!" she squeaked. "You is back safe and sound?" Then she saw his bloody robes and paled.

"I presume that I Splinched myself, Tibby," he said. "I would also need the Soberness Potion."

Tibby nodded. "Master will follow me into the kitchen, hokay?"

Lucius obeyed and glanced at the clock, which was long past midnight. He knew Narcissa would be lying in their bed awake until he arrived to reassure her, but he had the feeling he had to lag along for a while before he ascended.

He didn't have a... respect for the elf, but maybe a certain love. After all, she had been the one who had cared for him when his own father had been neglecting him, beating him. Her brother, Dobby, on the other hand, was downright hopeless. Even the most patient house-elves were impatient with him. What kind of elf desired _freedom_ of all things, anyways?

"Mistress Bella were here tis evening, Master," Tibby told him while she worked her elfish magic over his leg. He winced and his eyes popped open.

"Bellatrix was _here_?" he repeated dazedly.

"She were looking for Mistress. I tolds her she weren't there, and she uses the bathroom before leaving." Tibby had a grin on her face. "Tibby is all finished with mending yours wound, Master. Would you like a suppers?"

Lucius shook his head. "I'll go to bed directly, but thank you anyways."

Tibby was the only house-elf to whom he directed such a courtesy. The other elves only heard orders from him.

She bowed. "Very good then, Master." She Disapparated with a _crack_.

He made his way slowly to the library, which was near the wing in which their bedroom was situated – the pain in his leg had disappeared, but his side ached again – to get the book to continue his researches on what could cause those premonitions.

The library was one of his favourite rooms in the manor, filled with old, leather bound books, with bright scarlet seals and comfy, velvety armchairs. Lucius was afraid he had rather been neglecting the spot of his childhood wanderings, always accompanied by one or two wolfhounds, but the elves took care of it well.

He turned on the lights and headed to the Dark Arts shelves, which were larger and more informative than the rest, when he got a surprise. He first heard soft breathing, and then when he tripped over one of the old books lying on the floor, cursing Dobby and his untidiness, he heard a loud, musical cry. His heart immediately pounded against his chest and he got that piercing warning again.

There was a bundle on the shining obsidian desk, a bundle smelling of warm milk. Lucius approached slowly, and saw a tiny face peeking out from the makeshift blankets, which were actually old robes, that was a replica of her mother's. A note that had been tacked onto the desk floated to the floor and he picked it up.

_Dearest Cissy, _

_I turn Cassiopeia Calypso Lestrange over in your care, whilst I serve the Dark Lord most faithfully. Please do not warn the wizarding world of her existence, for it will place her in the greatest of perils. I will try to visit, but none is guaranteed. _

_Best wishes and thank you endlessly, _

_Your sister Bella_

The child's dark eyes fixed on him curiously, more focused than a newborn's gaze should be. Lucius found that extremely disturbing. He turned away from her for a second and there it was again – that most peculiar feeling in his side. It was enhancing. There was definitely something wrong with the child. He looked at the crackling fire and spoke softly. "Bellatrix," he said, "I believe that your 'explanatory' letter was a polite way of saying 'I do not want my child, you can have it'."

Suddenly, a paper appeared in his palm and before he could toss it away, exploded into red smoke. A life-size shadow of Bellatrix emerged and pointed a finger accusingly at him. Then she said in a distinct voice, "Malfoy, you'd better listen."

Lucius looked at it curiously, waiting for it to continue.

"You will take care of Cassiopeia. You will not ditch her. If you do, I'll hunt you down, and you know me." It disappeared.

"Damn," he growled. He went to the doors of the library and called, "Cissa!"

Narcissa walked in, wearing her nightshirt and a scowl. Her face softened when she saw him. "What was all that commotion, Lucius?" she inquired.

He rubbed his face tiredly and said, "Follow me, Cissa."

She obeyed and gasped when she saw the baby. "What- Bella-"

"Yes, I know." Lucius cocked his head and picked it up, passing her to his wife. "Bella's child. She left it with us. Great mother, isn't she?"

"Yes," Narcissa murmured. She smoothed the infant's matted, curly black hair and said decisively, "So we keep her."

"Fine-" He glanced at her, alarmed. "Cissa, you aren't seriously considering?"

"Malfoy." She only called him with his surname when she was exasperated or extremely benevolent. Her icy blue eyes pleadingly met his cold grey eyes. "We'll hide her. She can sleep in the old suites, surely no one will look there. No matter, but we're keeping her."

The corners of Lucius's mouth twisted a bit, but he was silent, because when Narcissa's mind was made up, he could never argue well.


	2. The Oracle's Stirring

The Oracle's Stirring

The night was young when he first heard of Cassiopeia Lestrange. He was on another of his nocturnal walks, admiring the beauty of the moonlight and generally thinking.

The twelve cabins were eerie-looking in the darkness, looming over him and his horse body. The soft, constant breaths of the campers could be heard. Two or three satyrs were doing patrol, nodding and smiling to him as he trotted past them.

He looked towards the forest and decided to visit the dryads. Juniper was there, sitting on Zeus's fist, staring at a flower missing a few petals.

"Hello there," he called.

"Chiron!" she said, sounding surprised, and gracefully slid off.

"What are you doing here, so late?" Dryads were well known for going to sleep early and waking before the crack of dawn.

"There is a, er, commotion in the Big House," Juniper pointed.

He glanced at the red building past his shoulder where his bow and arrows were swung, but did not notice anything unusual. "My dear, I do not think that there is anything wrong. Perhaps Mr. D was stirring-"

Then he tensed, and the dryad with him. A bright green glow was lighting up the attic and the top floor of the Big House was slightly trembling.

"That was what I was telling you about!" she cried. "The Oracle is stirring-"

"Fitfully, I presume," said Chiron. "I must find Mr. D. Goodbye, dear girl, keep well."

He patted her shoulder and galloped away.

Dionysus had woken and posed his bloodshot eyes on the centaur reproachfully. "From what I have succeeded in gathering, Chiron, there is a problem with the Oracle. A technical one?"

"I don't think we're that lucky. Last time something like this happened, the Great Prophecy was made."

"This cannot be the next Great Prophecy," the god grumbled in reply, "It cannot, or else it would be absurd, what with pesky Apollo rambling incoherently like he always does, all over the place." He gestured for the trainer to follow him. "Wait for me under the attic. The Oracle cannot harm me too severely, for I can recognise possession, and it is not possessed."

The Oracle had perished recently, Dionysus thought as he opened the trap door with Chiron waiting warily underneath. It was not as bad as it had been, a skeletal mummy, in Percy and Annabeth's stays at the camp. It still smelled freshly of rotting, but he managed to block his nasal sense with his godly power.

It still sat humbly onto the three-legged stool on which it had died, in the middle of one of its prophecies. The poor bearer of the Oracle's spirit had withered quickly, to the god's eyes, which was another reason to not thoroughly observe mortals. When he walked among them, he did not feel standing out, but he sometimes wondered what would have happened if he had carried on being a mortal demigod. In thousands of years he would still look the same. During his mortal life he would have marvelled at that.

Oh, he was such a _fool_.

He knelt, out of old habit, and asked, "What is the matter, O Oracle?"

The Oracle shook more violently and whispered in its raspy, dead voice, "_The next perturbation has been born in the midst of the urban world of England_." Then it closed its glassy eyes and sighed, going still.

Dionysus stared at it. The perturbation? Did the Oracle mean the hero of the Great Prophecy? Or of something else entirely?

He descended and recounted the events to Chiron, who stroked his beard thoughtfully. "I will think of it in the morning," he said, and exited.

But instead of going to bed like Dionysus assumed he would, he went into his office, picked up a pen and a paper, and began writing a letter.


	3. Bear It in Mind, Narcissa

Bear It in Mind, Narcissa

Snape paced back and forth in his office, a frown on his features. There was a window leading to his backyard, which was filled with wilted weeds and probably gnomes, though he seriously doubted it, given the Muggle infestation.

He barely paid attention to the letter sitting on the table. Days earlier Chiron had sent it to him by means of owl. He glanced out of the window.

Narcissa should be here by any second, he thought. Oh, how he wanted to speak and rip Bellatrix's head off for doing so, should he have not known about the Fates!

He still jumped when the door was knocked, though, and bounded down the stairs. He opened the door. A very wet Narcissa wearing a dripping, dark cloak looked at him impatiently. She nodded to him.

"Severus."

He nodded curtly back. "Come along, Narcissa. Let us go sit in the kitchen, shall we?" He put out a hand. "I will take your cloak."

She looked at him suspiciously.

"As you say."

Once they were properly seated, Snape handed her some of his elf-made wine from the base. "To the Dark Lord," he declared.

"To the Dark Lord," Narcissa repeated, and drank her glass thirstily. "What have you called me here for, Severus?"

"I wanted to discuss Bellatrix's daughter with you, if you please."

She actually hissed at that.

"Where did you hear that from?"

He shrugged, and closed his fingers around her wrist to stop her from leaving. "An old friend from America," he said quietly. "Narcissa, I want to ask you something. Do you know about your mother's origins?"

"Why," Narcissa said slowly, frowning, "Why are you suddenly asking about my mother's family, Severus? Do you doubt my blood status?"

"No, of course not. I just want to know. After all, should you prove that defensive when I ask a mere question, it must mean that you have something to hide, Narcissa. I know you; I've known you since your fourth year."

"You won't believe this, Severus, anyways." She pulled him away. "You may think that I am insane."

"Then spill it out, Narcissa; spill it out before I deem _two_ Black sisters insane instead of one."

"That's blackmail."

"No, it isn't. And if it was, you wouldn't care, as blackmail is a Slytherin's trademark." Snape got up and lit the stove, then waited for a moment before putting his palm on it. She stared at him in disbelief for a second.

"What are you doing?" she said. "Are _you_ the insane one?"

He showed her his palm. It was unscathed.

"You _must_ have put a Fire-Resistor Charm on your palm."

Snape shook his head. Then he casually opened his palm again and Summoned a match and a briquette. "A Fire-Resistor Charm wouldn't do this," he said. "A Fire-Resistor Charm would bounce it off. Watch."

He lit the match and blew a flame onto his palm. It stayed there, burning, as if Snape's palm was a torch and not a palm.

"I can resist regular Muggle fire, to an extent," he told her. "So you see, you can tell me about your mother. After that I'll tell you more about mine."

"My mother told me," Narcissa said, "Well, my mother told me that I was the only of my sisters that could see through the Mist."

Snape nodded. "Very well. What else?"

"She said that she was a daughter of Aphrodite, goddess of love and beauty. She was dying from Dragon Pox at the time, so I wasn't entirely convinced that she was lucid. But if you handle it so... coolly, then it must mean it's true."

"It is. As it is, I am the grandson of Hephaestus, the god of the forges."

"_And_ fire," said Narcissa, glancing at his hand.

"And fire. My father was a fire Summoner, but I can only resist it." Snape flexed his fingers. "So, that brings us back to Cassiopeia."

"Yes. How do _you_ know about her?"

"Don't worry; it wasn't Lucius that divulged the secret. Seers also exist in the immortal world, Narcissa, except that they are called Oracles. Remember the friend I told you about? His Oracle made a prophecy. It did not name anybody, but he works alongside a god, and the god assumed."

"How fascinating," Narcissa said.

"Very," Snape agreed. "So about your niece, Narcissa; she is dangerous. You must be wary of her. Treat her well, and tell Lucius to do the same. At least try."

"Just tell me about the prophecy, Severus," she snapped.

"I cannot, you will understand. Some things are ruled by the Fates, Narcissa, and this is one of them. Cassiopeia Calypso Lestrange is not an innocent child and will never be, probably. The Fates, who can be cruel, have decided that much. She is hellishly powerful – her body contains raw power already, at this age. Bear this in mind, Narcissa."


End file.
